


miserere

by mostfamousestofhobbits



Category: The Losers (Comic)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 10:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2465708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostfamousestofhobbits/pseuds/mostfamousestofhobbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>during "downtime," cougar goes to church.</p>
            </blockquote>





	miserere

**Author's Note:**

> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vsDof3ShAjs

_he stared at the child he had put in the helicopter. the boy’s face was cracking and shimmering with flame. flesh peeled away and melted as screams from the others rose to the heavens, fruitless prayers for deliverance. he heard them crying to allah, to the man with the camel beard, to the cowboy. he stared into the flames until the screaming stopped, until the strangely appetizing smell of burning meat grew to be too much. clay came over the hill and stood beside him for a while._

_"cougar. cougar. c’mon. we gotta go." he reached out his hand toward the dying flames._

carlos “cougar” alvarez shot awake, bolt upright in his bed. maria sighed and turned her head, still sleeping. he stared at the ceiling for a while, trying to only see the peeling white paint. he knew it was around one in the morning on thursday. he tried to know only that, wrapping his mind around the knowledge like he wrapped his fingers around the barrel of a rifle. he frowned, still staring at the ceiling. it was an important day.

he swung his legs over the side of the bed and began getting dressed, methodically pulling on his boxers and pants and slipping into a worn t-shirt jensen had gotten him. it was a band shirt, from some band called “the killers.” he didn’t pay much attention to such things anymore. jensen did try to cheer him up now and again since they'd gotten the group back together by getting him presents. sometimes they helped, a little.

he laced up his boots, tying the knot quickly. he needed to get there in time. at least before the choir began singing. he stood, then turned to the bed. maria (one of many marias) was sleeping, her short black hair spiking every which way. he bent down and kissed her cheek, then straightened and turned to the door.

there were very few people out at this hour, most of them older folk. they were all heading for the little church down the street from maria’s apartment. it sat there, squat and red, waiting for worshippers with open doors.

he was always quiet, but now he felt as though breathing too loudly would be disrespectful. he slipped into the back pew, crossing himself as he sat down. it didn’t creak, thankfully. the choir of nine, men and boys, were just getting into position, some of the younger boys rubbing their eyes. one of the men, portly, with an impressively curled mustache, stifled a yawn. the priest came out. cougar stiffened, fingers curling into fists. he sighed, then took off his hat and bowed his head.

the rustling of the priest’s robes was soothing. the priest’s nasally voice said the greeting, but cougar didn’t pay attention. he wasn’t there for anything but the choir. that was all that mattered. after a little droning, voices began wavering into the first notes of his favorite psalm.

_miserere, mei deus_ …

he listened as they sang. he had heard recordings much better than this, but this was somehow more powerful. the acoustics in the church weren’t bad, taking the quietest boy and magnifying every lilt.

_tibi soli peccavi, et malum coram te feci…_

his eyes began to burn. he closed them, hoping to prevent tears. not that they were unmanly, but he had wept enough since 1998, wept for the nameless bodies as they cooked in the flames. his shoulders began relaxing. he only noticed the tension as it left, lingering like the smell of burning flesh lingered in his fatigues for days afterward.

_quoniam si voluisses sacrificium, dedissem utique: holocaustis non delectaberis…_

his shoulders stiffened again as the song began ending. his entwined fingers clenched and shook as he forced himself to see the flames again, begging god to save the children’s souls, begging god to keep them safe because he couldn’t and didn’t.

_…tunc imponent super altare…_

he stood up and began leaving at the last notes.

"vaya con dios, angelitos," he murmured, setting his hat firmly on his head.

_…tuum vitulos._


End file.
